Blackmail
by Aelin Nicolo Winchester
Summary: When Cas rescues Sam from the Cage, Crowley uses the younger Winchester to earn Dean's cooperation with his search for Purgatory. A one-shot alternate ending for season 5, up for adoption.


**A/N:**

 **This is a one-shot that I wish I could continue myself, but I definitely do not have the self-discipline to do that. If anybody else is interested in continuing the story themselves, you're welcome to. Just PM me, and I'll edit this author's note to include that information for the readers.**

 **Readers, enjoy! And review when you're done. Please?**

 **I own none of these characters.**

* * *

The bar was dim, and looked like the type that should be full of drunks and low-lives at this time of night. But it was mostly empty at three o'clock in the morning, save the black-eyed bartender and one man waiting at the bar with a shot glass. The two eyed each other warily, being natural enemies. They would have destroyed the bar by now in a different situation. The tension wasn't lessened by the sudden appearance of a third man (or something like it) in a seat.

"Crowley," Dean greeted tersely, "Why did you call me?"

"Hello, darling," the demon said easily. "I have a deal to make you."

"Of course you do," Dean sighed, standing, "I knew this a waste of time."

"Oh, relax, I'm not asking for a soul," Crowley assured him nonchalantly, rolling his eyes. "It's a _good_ deal. Just hear me out. I think you'll find you agree with me."

"I'm not interested in _any_ kind of deal with you, Crowley. Soul or no soul," Dean insisted darkly.

"Then, why did you come?" Crowley asked, "Don't tell me you didn't expect something like this."

"I thought there was a chance it might be something important," Dean glowered.

"Oh, I think you'll find the particular soul involved is _very_ important, especially to you."

Dean paused, turning back to the demon. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded. Gone was the irritation in his voice, replaced by that unmistakable, slightly terrifying, _if-you-lie-to-me-I-will-know_ Winchester suspicion.

"Oh, not much," Crowley shrugged, "Just that your brother's soul is no longer in the Cage, but in my custody."

Dean's face was stone, and his voice steel, as he responded. "Crowley. Explain."

Crowley smirked. "That's right, Squirrel. I saved your brother, you're welcome."

It took the human everything he had to keep his breathing even. "He's alive?"

"Oh no, not quite," Crowley amended, "Not on earth. Just not in the Cage."

"In hell, you mean," Dean guessed icily. He didn't even register drawing the demon knife, but it was in his hand.

Crowley shrugged. "He's not being tortured, if that helps. Or doing the torturing, for that matter."

It did. That was a huge relief. Not that he was ever going to tell Crowley that. But Sam was still in hell, Crowley's domain. If Crowley intended to hand him over, he would want something in return.

"I can see you've realized the point of this meeting," Crowley observed. He nodded to the seat beside him. "Well? Still don't want to talk?"

Dean took a seat. Every instinct in his body was screaming to _kill him, make him give Sam back, don't give him a chance to blackmail you._ But Dean had had lots of time to think in the month since Sam ended the Apocalypse, and he knew now that that was exactly the ask-questions-later attitude that had gotten his family into this mess.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I want the Alpha Skinwalker."

"The what?" Dean growled. He didn't know what that was, but it couldn't _possibly_ be good.

"Oh, forgive me, you don't know. The _first_ Skinwalker. The one from which all other Skinwalkers came. It's alive somewhere on the earth, and I want it."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "How do you-"

"Know?" Crowley interrupted, "My demons found it. But it killed them. The only people capable of taking this particular monster down would be Alastair, who is completely uninterested in working with me, and yourself, who has plenty of reason to."

"And if I don't?" he challenged, though he knew full well what would happen.

Crowley raised a brow. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, Dean. I have your brother. He's fine for now, but that can change very easily."

"And I suppose it will happen regardless if I kill you?"

"Well, Alastair is _itching_ to find out if Moose is anything like you were. And if _I_ wasn't ruling hell, _he'd_ have to, and although he'd rather be left to his craft, he would be open to dragging you back there to take his place in the torture chambers. Face it: it's in your best interest to work with me."

Dean's knuckles were white, clutching the knife, still itching to put it in between the demon's eyes. But if Crowley had really achieved his goal of kinghood in hell (and really, even if he _hadn't_ ), then he was completely right.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" he growled, "This is all probably total bullshit anyway."

"But you don't believe that," Crowley smirked, "If you did, you'd be gone. Or I'd be dead. One of the two. Don't worry, you'll get him back once I reach my goal. So what's it gonna be, Dean? _Maybe_ save your brother from excruciating torture, or _maybe_ let him burn?"

Dean's anger was nearly palpable in the air, but he put the knife up with a terse nod. "Fine."

"Fine…?" Crowley trailed off expectantly.

"We have a deal," Dean snarled.

With a snap of his fingers, a file appeared in the smirking demon's hands. "Everything you need to know about the Alpha Skinwalker," Crowley explained, "Get to work, hunter."

The demon's mocking tone was almost enough to make Dean take it all back and stab him anyway. But he was gone before Dean could draw the knife again, the file left on the bar.

"Seriously?!" Dean barked. He glared at the file. _I think I just got blackmailed into working for the king of Hell,_ he thought.

Dean scowled. "Hey!" he snapped at the bartender, tapping his glass. As soon as the demon was close enough to pick it up, Dean's knife was in its throat.

He turned, wiping the knife on his jacket as the body hit the floor. He'd always found that rather therapeutic, and now was no exception.

He picked up the file contemptuously. _May as well get this over with,_ he decided with a scowl. He had a monster to hunt.


End file.
